The Cats that Watched the Woods (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Karen Anne Golden

  The bartender whispered, “Hey, you better get your cuz home. He’s drunker than drunk, and he’s tellin’ an awful story. Git what I mean?”

  Stevie knew the bartender for many years and understood the urgency. He walked directly to the table where his cousin Jimmy was talking animatedly to two other men. They were laughing at some kind of big joke. Jimmy didn’t notice Stevie and kept talking, slurring his words.

  “Yeah, you should have seen that bitch when I ran her off the road,” he bragged.

  “Hey, Jimmy. Long time no see. What’s happenin’, Cuz?” Stevie asked.

  Jimmy laughed some more, but the other two men looked sheepish. They got up and moved to a different table.

  “Drinks all around,” Stevie instructed the bartender. Then to Jimmy, he asked, “What ya talkin’ about. Sounds like my kind of story.”

  “It’s like this Stevie, my man, ole man Townsend has met his maker, if you catch my drift. He was demandin’ more of a cut, so I offed him.”

  “Really? Did my old man approve that? I hope for your sake that you covered your tracks. You got rid of the body, right?”

  Jimmy ignored the questions and kept on laughing. “I’m gittin’ to that, but here’s the funny part . . . ”

  Bartender Eddie brought two beers and set them down, then he took care of the two other men.

  Stevie took a long drink. “I want to hear it. Had a crappy day dealin’ with customers who don’t want to pay.”

  Jimmy gulped down four big swallows. “Seems ole Townsend had a woman friend. Some babe with short black hair. Drove one of those newer model Subarus.”

  Stevie cringed but didn’t let Jimmy know he suspected the woman was Katherine Kendall. She matched the description. Most women in Erie wore their hair long. Katherine’s hair was short, and she drove a newer model Subaru.

  Jimmy continued, “When I found out Townsend was trying to screw us, I took him out back and had a little conversation. His stupid woman was standin’ there, lookin’ out the window. She saw what happened, so I had to get rid of her.”

  “Right,” Stevie agreed. “She’s a witness.”

  “Yeah, but here’s the funny part. She flew out of there like a house on fire, and I chased her down. She can’t drive for shit. My truck hardly touched her vehicle. She hit something and it flipped big-time. Horrible wreck. She’s dead, man. We got nothin’ to worry about.”

  “Yeah, sounds cool to me. Finish your beer, buddy. Gotta git ya home. Don’t want any of those probation fellers comin’ around and seein’ you drunk.”

  Leaving the bar, Jimmy noticed Stevie’s new truck. “Movin’ up in the world, big shot.”

  Stevie answered, getting in, “Hey, don’t get sick in my truck or they’ll be hell to pay.”

  Jimmy snickered, “I ain’t drunk.”

  The ride to the Sanders’ Trailer Court was a few minutes away from the bar. As soon as Stevie helped Jimmy into his trailer, he advised, “Get some sleep. I’ll talk to ya later.”

  “Yeah, Cuz.”

  Walking back to his truck, Stevie pulled out his cell phone and called his father. They spoke in code, just in case any lawman was listening.

  Stevie began, “Hey, Dad. My girlfriend’s sick with the flu.”

  “That’s too bad,” Sam said. “Seems odd the flu would be goin’ around now in the middle of summer. How bad is it?”

  “Oh, enough to take her to the ER. Just callin’ to let ya know.”

  Sam feigned a laugh. “Well, son, you can at least tell me who it is.”

  “Jeanne.”

  “That’s too bad. Take care of your woman. I’ll be home soon.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Stevie hung up.

  The conversation had been innocent enough. Jeanne was the code name for Jimmy. Sick with the flu meant Jimmy had done a stupid thing that could expose all of them. Take care of your woman simply meant Sam Sanders would make sure Jimmy was out of the picture—permanently. But it also meant there couldn’t be any witnesses.

  Stevie hoped the woman wasn’t Katherine. He thought angrily, Just when my life is changing for the better, that idiot Jimmy totally screwed things up. Stevie pounded his steering wheel several times, then fired up the engine. He drove a little faster than necessary, but no cops were in sight to pull him over. He had to get to Townsend’s place before the law did. It was so far in the sticks, he didn’t think that was likely, but he had to get the Oxy for his father . . . and also had to find Katherine.

  What if she was dead like Jimmy said? He wondered. He was sad for a moment, then focused on what he had to do. First and foremost, he had to make sure the Oxy was safe. He feared the wrath of his father more than any law enforcement agent.

  He had to clean up the crime scene, then bury poor old Leonard. Where to bury him, he didn’t have a clue—someplace on the property. Only when the burial was done would he make an anonymous call to the Erie County Sheriff. He’d use the untraceable burner cell phone he kept just in case of an emergency. He’d call in the accident. If he didn’t, he knew no one would find Katherine on Townsend’s property. He started ticking off the reasons. First, Townsend’s tract of land covered four hundred acres. Second, the private lane to the house was off the beaten track. The only people turning on Townsend’s road were lost vacationers, occasional cabin renters, and drug dealers.

  But what if I find Katherine alive, Stevie pondered. Should I just make up some lame excuse why I’m in that neck of the woods? Yeah, he’d do that. He’d have to gain her confidence to find out what she knew.

  * * *

  Katherine moaned as the man loaded her in his ATV’s utility trailer. “You’re hurting me.” She caught a glimpse; he wore a black motorcycle helmet. The same man from last night, she panicked. The stranger in the woods.

  He threw a blanket over her, then mounted his three-wheeler.

  The pain in her ribs was so intense, Katherine blacked out again.

  The man drove slowly through the woods on a narrow path. He tried to reduce the rugged ride for the injured passenger in the back. When he came to a clearing, he pulled into the cabin’s parking space, where Katherine had parked her SUV the night before. He turned off the ATV, walked to the cabin door, and kicked it open. Then he returned for Katherine. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, gently laying her down. Katherine gave out a cry of pain, but didn’t wake up.

  The crow flew in the opened door and perched on the footboard, gazing with wonder at the motionless woman.

  The man grunted to the bird.

  The crow understood. “Caw,” the bird acknowledged.

  Katherine stirred for a second and mumbled, “My cats . . .”

  The man nodded, left the room, and went back outside. He climbed on his ATV, drove into the woods, and turned into a path to Townsend’s backyard. There he loaded up his dead friend and took him a half-mile to an abandoned cemetery. The last tombstone read 1889. He stopped for a second to read it. “Lester Townsend. Born 1840. Beloved husband and father. One of his relatives, no doubt, he thought. He’d have to leave the body here and then go back to the house to get the right tools to bury him.

  He liked the old man, who was always just “Lenny” to him. He was kind. He didn’t treat him like he was some kind of freak. Lenny let him live off his land. Every week he’d leave him supplies. There were rundown cabins everywhere. Lenny said he could live wherever he wanted, but that he should move around a lot. That way, no one from the outside would find him. Lenny said it was their secret, and that he’d take it to his grave. In return for Leonard’s act of kindness, the man in the woods would take care of the property and the cabin rental—sight unseen. The big man sighed, I didn’t think he’d die today.

  Starting up the ATV, he headed back to the house. He worried about the tracks he was leaving in the mud, but he didn’t have time to cover them up—too many tracks, not enough time. He trudged through the mud to a side shed and opened the door. That’s where he’d taken the cat carrie
r. He looked inside at the two Siamese and wanted to comfort them, but they hissed and moved to the back of the cage.

  He liked cats and took care of the strays in the woods. He took care of all God’s creatures—those in need, or those that were just hungry. Looking at these cats, he sensed they were special—intelligent-looking. He knew the cats were Siamese. Long ago, he’d seen Siamese cats on TV. The smaller one blinked at him; the man winked back with his remaining eye.

  He took a moment to catch his breath. He tried to piece together what happened less than an hour ago. The night before, he didn’t know anyone was staying at the cabin, because Lenny didn’t leave him a note. When he saw the Subaru, he checked things out in case a squatter had moved in. This had happened before, and the ending wasn’t a happy event for the squatter. He didn’t mean to frighten the woman who looked out the window, so he left for his own cabin and stayed there until the following morning.

  When he got up, he drove his ATV over to Lenny’s, but he didn’t approach the house because of the blue pickup. He suspected a drug deal was going on, and he didn’t want to be a part of it. He left the ATV in the woods and sneaked behind the shed to get a closer look at the backyard. He was close enough to see Lenny standing in the yard with a short, muscular guy. They were joking about something. The short man was cackling loudly. He didn’t know the short stranger; he’d never seen him before.

  When the young woman with the short black hair pulled up and parked, he got distracted and moved to get a closer look. He followed her with his remaining eye, then realized she was the woman staying in the cabin. Her car windows were down, and he could hear cats meowing inside.

  This was the part of the story that puzzled him. Did the shooting happen before the woman walked into the house, or afterwards? He remembered hearing the gun shots and wanting to warn the woman to get out of there. He knew that for her safety, he had to get her into the woods. But he didn’t want any harm to come to the cats, so he opened the Subaru’s hatchback and took out the carrier. He ran it over to the closest shed and placed it inside. He was thankful the cats had stopped screeching. This guaranteed the killer wouldn’t find and harm them.

  Looking over his shoulder, he saw Lenny’s body. It looked like he’d been shot in the head. He remembered sprinting to his ATV to get his rifle. He was a crack shot. He hoped he could get back to the woman before the short man did, but he was too late. She was already in her SUV, racing down the lane.

  He was squinting through the rifle sight, aiming for the blue pickup, when he caught movement behind a large oak tree. It was that woman he’d sighted for several days. Who was she? Where had she been hiding? She made a wild dash to the edge of the woods and seemed to be trying to catch up to the Subaru. She was limping. He lunged after her—stopping only to take a few shots at the blue pickup; the first round shattered the back window. When he heard the terrible crash, he prayed it was the pickup, but it wasn’t.

  The woman in the woods saw him—saw his disfigured face—and screamed. She staggered deeper into the woods. He had to find her, but first he had to take care of the cats.

  Securing the cat carrier in his trailer with a bungee cord, he reached for his rifle and stepped cautiously to the house. He prayed the strange woman with the wild blond hair wasn’t inside, and if she was, he hoped she didn’t have a gun. He didn’t think she did because, she’d had the opportunity to shoot him several times when they encountered each other in the woods. Better be safe than sorry, he thought. It was getting very hot outside. He didn’t want to leave the cats outside too long.

  Jogging to the house, he opened the screen door, which opened noisily on its rusted hinges. He checked out the house, then walked back to the living room coffee table full of Oxy. He found a black shopping bag nearby and swept the drugs into it. He’d deal with that later. He didn’t want Oxy. He wanted something else.

  He moved to the kitchen pantry and lifted a plastic box off one of its shelves. It was Leonard’s medical emergency kit. Removing a glass ampoule and several syringes, he carefully put them in his pocket and walked back to the ATV.

  When he arrived at the cabin, the crow flew out of the house and landed on the cat carrier. “Caw. Caw,” the bird cried.

  “Caw,” the smaller Siamese answered. The bigger one stared at him suspiciously; she bared her teeth and growled.

  He freed the carrier from the bungee cord, then carried it to the cabin. He set it down on the bedroom floor.

  Katherine lay on the bed, deep in sleep. The man inspected her body to see how significant the injuries were. She had several contusions on her face and head. The palms of her hands were bruised, as well. When he lifted up her tank top, he found a very large hematoma had formed on her chest and ribs. He surmised that the SUV’s frontal air bag did a number on her. She was small, petite. She was probably sitting too close to the steering wheel. There wasn’t much he could do about the bruised ribs.

  She didn’t appear to have any broken bones. He prayed she didn’t have internal injuries, because then he couldn’t help her. All he could do now was give her something for the pain. If she awakened by the next morning, he’d figure out what to do then.

  He was sure about one thing. He wasn’t going to seek outside help for two reasons: One—that short drug dealer was bound to come back and get the Oxy. Two—he was not giving up his location to the authorities. He’d get rid of the dealer first, and worry about the second later.

  “Waugh,” the larger Siamese cried.

  The man grunted. He opened the carrier gate, but the two cats stayed inside and refused to come out. That was okay. He needed to give the woman something for pain, and he didn’t want them in the way.

  He reached inside his camouflaged shirt and pulled out a syringe. He needed to inject the drug in her hip. He gently rolled her on her side. She moaned in pain. From his back pocket, he pulled out his folding hunter’s knife and cut a slit in her jeans. He then used several alcohol pads to sterilize his hands.

  Tearing the plastic wrapper off the syringe, he stuck it in the glass ampoule, measured the required dose of morphine, and stuck the needle in her hip. She was so petite, he was afraid to give her much. The narcotic would help ease her pain. She needed to sleep to heal her injuries. He moved her back on her back and vowed to check on her later. He couldn’t stay with her. He had too many fish to fry before he’d come back.

  When the man left the room and closed the door, Scout and Abra leapt out. They cautiously circled the room, then jumped on the bed. Abra began licking Katherine’s face. Scout stood tall and paced back-and-forth at the end of the bed, waiting to do ferocious battle with anyone who tried to hurt Katherine. She loved her human as much as she did her sister, her littermate Abra. Although the man from the woods smelled terrible, Scout sensed he was trying to help them. It was the other man the Siamese had to worry about.

  Chapter Eight

  Katherine thought she heard Abra whisper something in her ear. The cat’s whiskers tickled when she brushed against her face. But cats can’t talk, Katherine rationalized.

  She lapsed into a dream about an event that happened in another place and time—before she rescued Abra from the cruel magician. Scout and Abra had been stage performers in the Catskills, working for Harry’s Hocus-Pocus act, before Katherine provided their forever home. Now an image nagged at her subconscious, something about when Abra was stolen. But I wasn’t there, Katherine thought. No one knows what happened to Abra but Abra herself.

  “I can tell you,” the cat said. “Raw.”

  The cat’s voice in the dream trailed off. Katherine woke up and glanced around the room. She weakly tried to get up, but felt as if iron weights were holding her down. It was night, and the room was pitch-dark. She could hear the cicadas’ keening whine rise, subside, and then fall silent. She heard a movement in the far corner—a rustling sound. Then a shape slowly approached the bed. A giant crow landed and perched on the footboard. It shrieked, “Caw!”

  I must be
out of my mind, Katherine thought. I’m dead or dying. I hurt all over. What’s happening to me? She heard a distorted grumbling. It was a hoarse male voice.

  Katherine opened her eyes for a split second, then quickly closed them. The huge man was standing, leaning over, looking at her. His face was terribly disfigured. The entire left side of his face was a mass of scars; his left eye was missing. She cringed and tried to move.

  He mumbled something and then held a bottle of water to her lips. She took several sips and wanted more, but he took it away from her.

  “Want Jake,” she managed to say, before lapsing into another dream.

  Chapter Nine

  Stevie Sanders turned into the lane that led to Townsend’s house, rounded a curve, and nearly hit a disheveled woman limping toward him. She was flailing her arms wildly. He jammed on the brakes and the woman collapsed in front of his truck.

  Getting out, Stevie rushed over to the woman and then stood back, surprised. “Damn, sis. What are you doin’ out here?”

  Barbie sat up. “Thanks for askin’ if I was okay. What are you doin’ out here? Whatever the reason, I don’t care. I just want you to take me out of this hell hole and get me to the nearest McDonalds. I’m starvin’ to death.”

  Stevie helped her up. “Let’s get you in the truck.”

  “I can hardly walk,” she said, taking his hand. “I twisted my ankle.”

  Stevie helped her up to the running board, then pushed her into her seat.

  “Ouch,” she cried, then, “Got any water?”

  “Yeah,” Stevie said, moving to his toolbox in the back. He pulled out a bottle of water. “Here,” he said, handing it to her.

  Stevie climbed into his seat and started the engine. “Listen, I’ve got to pick up something I left at the house.”

  “What?” Barbie shrieked. “Are you insane? We ain’t goin’ to Leonard’s house.”